Two Odd Words that Ought to be Persian

Ya-lad

In our last blog, we put forward a method for identifying foreign multisyllabic words in Tibetan. We should try again, just to add a little refinement and state it in a different way. 

To begin with, let’s agree that a person with much experience with Tibetan language will be able to look at any multisyllabic name or term and recognize when its final syllable is not (or not easily, or not sensibly) etymologizable as Tibetan.*

(*Bear in mind that most of the pukkah Tibetan bisyllabics, when they are not etymologizable as compounds, have as second syllable one of those important -pa -po -ba -bo -ma -mo endings that don’t count for anything right now for our present purposes.)

Next, a suspicion forms: The entire word in all its syllables is quite likely to be of foreign origin.* And this holds even if, and I would emphasize this point, the earlier syllables seem to be etymologizable as Tibetan. Those syllables could have undergone a historic process of naturalization, a rather common phenomenon I like to call Tibetanization. This might not involve any great alteration in the sound, but is very likely to evolve spellings that make the syllable look more and more like a normal Tibetan word.

(*A rather subtle point I must inject here: Rightly or wrongly, we have a strong tendency to consider Tibetan syllables individually, but here we need to learn to transcend those syllable boundaries and view the word as a single unit.)

I see this as a workable method for isolating candidates for foreign origins, one that would basically exclude Chinese and Sumerian as donor languages.* So the third step is to look into possible Turkic, Mongolian, Persian (including Sogdian, Khotan Saka, etc.), Aramaic [Hebrew and Arabic], and Greek origins. And yes, you are kidding me, of course, Indian languages. How could we ever neglect Sanskrit? So it is mainly in those just-named languages that these foreign words will be found if at all.

(*In my experience scholars are quite reluctant to accept Tibetan single-syllable words as borrowings. However longer words bear more phonetic data and moreover stand out in a Tibetan sentence, particularly the three-syllable words. We won’t deny single-syllable borrowings, see under Martin in the reading list below.)

Borrowings from one language into another are likely to involve sound shifts at the border crossings, and these are usually believed to work with some regularity, so much so that linguists have traditionally called them ‘laws.’ However, the body of recognized loanwords from Persian (and other Middle Eastern languages) is quite small. So rather than appealing to ‘laws’ already made, we would rather see the loanwords we do find as material useful for future legislative efforts. I don’t make rules here, guidelines and suggestions at best.

In fact I’m still trying to hone the method and I’m likely to tweek it to conform to the results I’ve gotten from it, if that makes sense, and I think it does... Why should I be forcibly circumscribed by rules I made up myself? And haven’t we been making up the rules for ourselves all along?

My strongest argument for the method is in its results, in quite a few cases quite clear, as in the word thu-lum of Turkic origin (see the reading list below). Since ours is a result-driven method, our ways of defining it can be revised to better suit the results it achieves. If that seems circular, does it really matter?

Enough of these methodological ruminations. I have been too heavily imposing on my few but much-appreciated readers, readers I am in constant danger of losing. We should make up for lost time and go swiftly to the two words I want to discuss today and be done with them before you know it. 

I’ve discussed both words in the past, even composed lengthy footnotes about them, all the time never even once considering the possibility of rooting out their origins, despite the suspicions raised by their unusual (and to some degree similar) appearance. Both words were discussed in a single footnote by R.A. Stein 35 years ago, but he, too, never suggested their foreign origins. 

So I feel justified in claiming this blog as the first time they have been publicly recognized. And I am confident that most people, just by having them pointed out to them, will know there is something to be seen there. They can freely go on to support or undermine the possibilities by arguing in a completely different direction.

The first of the two is ya-lad. True, I’ve noticed one late usage of the word, but I see it as a conscious archaism (alphabetic poems called ka-bshad tend to use it). I feel justified in seeing it as having currency before 1300 or so with usage going back several centuries. It is defined in many natively Tibetan glossaries of early vocabulary items (the genre of Brda’-rnying) where it is often defined as “go-cha” or “go-cha generally speaking.” Now this is an interesting point, since the word used in the definition looks etymologizable in Tibetan as roughly something like covering piece. In very common usage from early times, go-cha means military equipment, most often body armor. Nevertheless it very surely is borrowed into Tibetan from Indic kavaca, armor, coat of mail (if in doubt, check your Mahāvyutpatti no. 6072).

We do know of some usages of ya-lad in Bon literature, including an important Bon tantra, the Gsang-ba Bsen-thub, revealed by Shenchen Luga in 1017 CE. We know it is a rather archaic word as it is used a few times in Old Tibetan texts from Dunhuang. In general we may say it has two usages (a third usage meaning a very high number will be left aside for now). When we encounter it, it is very likely to mean armor, but could also have an architectural meaning (more on that soon). A quick search of the Old Tibetan texts in OTDO will reveal a couple of examples of usage. These are difficult texts, but in one of them at least it is very clear it means some kind of armor, since it is used in tandem with go-cha (here spelled go-ca). 

Pelliot tibetain 239, click to enlarge.
Can you see the word ya-lad (ཡ་ལད་)
near the end of line 4?

• We have to wonder if this word suits our method, since the 2nd syllable has what might seem to be a valid Tibetan etymology. I’ve considered this possibility and dismissed it in an appendix (see below).

We can be satisfied that it is old and that it means body armor. However, there is one and only one example to the best of my knowledge where it is used with an architectural meaning. We find this in the Statements of Ba, even though the same history book has other examples where it without any doubt refers to armor. 

The early usages in the Dunhuang texts and in the Statements of Ba deserve close study, but for now it would only be a distraction as we are quite sure it means armor, most likely metal armor with elements of chain mail. And it is for now enough to know that it is old without knowing just how old. It was definitely used in the 10th century, and likely in the early 9th, and it kept being used with a degree of regularity up until the age of Mongol conquests, into the 13th century after which it was brought back to life now and then just for fun and poetry.

Now at last I should introduce with a dramatic drum roll the foreign word candidate behind the Tibetan ya-lad. Very ancient Iranian language already has a word zrādha, at some later point borrowed into Arabic in the form zarad, with the meaning of chain mail armour. The r > l shift is the well known lamdacism (occurring, for instance, in Turkic languages, as M.W. tells me). Lallation is another term for it (it obviously means 'L'-ifying what is other than 'L'). The consonantal shift z > y will find an explanation, even if I won’t offer one myself. Time will tell if these terms of identical meaning will fully pass the test and be accepted by the savants as being, ultimately, one and the same. I have confidence.

Dmu-yad

The other word will not require too much discussion. One way it differs from ya-lad is that it is a term exclusively in use in Bon religious contexts as far as I am aware. But it has enough usage in those texts to prove it is of pre-Mongol era currency. Also, while ya-lad is witnessed in a large number of lexical sourcebooks, only a couple of specialized Bon vocabularies list the word dmu-yad.

In Chapter Six of Martin’s book, the most renowned Treasure Revealer (Tertön) of Bon scripture by the name of Shenchen Luga tells his own story. Here dmu-yad was translated as “spiritual power.” Shenchen speaks of the dmu-yad appearing to him, and of it pouring inside of himself when he came face-to-face with a divinity. But the most illuminating passage is this one (my quote is modified for easier reading):

When I reached my thirteenth year, my father said, "You and Gekhö run along and go pick white gentian and tinder." 

So we went. I left Gekhö to pick gentian while I went to find tinder in a further valley, where a voice spoke from the sky saying, "Shen Luga, shall I bestow the spiritual power of Bon?" The place where I stood shook, and a crevice in the rock was filled with liquid. Thinking this to be the spiritual power, I kept it secret even from my parents. (pp. 57-58)

In my present understanding, this experience signaled his attainment of siddhi, of supernatural powers and spiritual illumination. It presaged his future career as a scriptural treasure revealer. An alternative version of the story says the liquid in the rock was ghee, the clarified butter used in Indian kitchens. Regardless of which liquid it might have been it represented elixir, a goal and product of internal alchemy.

Some might need to learn these three Sanskrit words momentarily: sādhana, siddhi, and siddha.* Simply put, sādhana means the Work of progressing in spiritual practice. Siddhi means an ultimate or not-quite-so-ultimate attainment or fulfillment that results from that Work. Siddha means the one who has attained the goal or goals of that Work. All three come from the same Sanskrit verbal root that means to strive for an aim or simply to do the work.

(*Tibetanists may need to see the words in Tibetan: སྒྲུབ་ཐབས་, དངོས་གྲུབ་, and གྲུབ་ཐོབ་.)

Almost all the Bon glossaries basically agree on four meanings of dmu-yad. According to the Pasar dictionary (but simplified for clarity) they are [1] ghee, [2] nutritive essence, [3] nectar (amṛta), and [4] spiritual attainment (siddhi).

The Namdak glossary gives only the last two meanings: ‘siddhi, elixir and so on,’ and I believe these two meanings have to be regarded as the primary ones. 

• Although these glossaries don’t mention it, and it doesn’t lead us anywhere of significance, we have to admit that there are rare instances in which dmu-yad refers to a particularly luxurious type of cushioning material. See Namdak’s history for an instance.

Before going on to name the foreign candidate, I should first eliminate one possibility that is likely to occur to many. But first observe that the yad syllable doesn’t suggest any Tibetan meaning (there is the reduplicative yad-yud, also in the form yad-de-yud-de — it is obviously formed on the basis of yud, not yad, which is why I believe it can be disregarded — but it indicates something of minimalized importance, so no way it fits here). It is rather the first syllable dmu that people are likely to take for Zhangzhung language, although I believe it is in fact a Tibetan word used in Tibetan-language contexts where it is meant to be taken as Tibetan. 

In an earlier blog I’ve argued how the Tibetan dmu (sometimes rmu or just mu) is perhaps the most widely shared Tibeto-Burman word for sky (often with the initial 'd' pronounced), although in Tibetan literary language it has been pushed to one side (often meaning horizon or boundary) replaced in common usage by the words gnam and nam-mkha'. See “Nam, an Ancient Word for Sky.”

It is true that the syllable mu / dmu is very commonly the Zhangzhung word for sky. This we do not deny. However, if we look at it together with the 2nd syllable yad, we are faced with the problem that this syllable is not registered in Zhangzhung language. So we revert back to our initial methodology and conclude that the entire word is an import even though the earlier syllable looks etymologizable, indicating that we are allowed to take this as a Tibetanization (or even, I suppose, Zhangzhungization). This frees us to look for a foreign word that sounds like muyad.

I think I have found a word that fits the bill quite well in its sound, and well enough in  its meaning.  Evidently of Persian origins, it has spread to other languages of the Middle East, particularly Arabic. Although more familiar to the world as a personal name, it is also a word with a meaning.

I’m talking about mu'yad. It is probably best known to the world at large as a proper name Muayad (with many variant spellings). According to one Persian dictionary source: مؤايدة muʼāyadat (v.n. 3 of ايد): ‘Strengthening, infusing fresh vigour, assisting.’  The inner fortification meaning at least suits the primary usages of dmu-yad to some degree.

I won’t say I’m entirely convinced by these suggestions of Persianate origins, and this being so I’d hardly expect conviction from you, my readers. I do think I’ve uncovered some probable connections worthy of discussion. One thing we might notice is that several of our known examples have a final syllable that starts with a single initial consonant followed by -ad. One that I haven’t mentioned is the early term ya-gad, that means step or footstool or, in architectural contexts, something like a plinth. If this is a foreign word as it seems to be, where did it come from? This discussion is by no means over, it’s really just getting started.

Writings on the web

Ya-lad was mentioned in a Tibeto-logic blog of 2017, “Translator Trip-Ups 3 - Words.” 

Note also “Turkish and Mongolian Loanwords.”

Specifically on the Turkic word thu-lum, see “Great Balls of Iron.”

“Bagel, Baklava and Bag-leb.” Bag-leb is another foreign loan that gave us the ordinary Tibetan word for ‘bread’ although this likely happened only a couple of centuries ago, and both syllables do oddly seem capable of Tibetan-internal etymology.

“Book Arts, Consecration and Letters” mentions Tibetan deb-ther, and its deep connections to ancient Greek (even Sumerian), and the disease we know as diphtheria. As far as Tibet is concerned, we only need to go back to the Mongol era. In the shortened form deb, this is now the common Tibetan word for the book format most in use in the modern world until recently, the kind bound in signatures. Traditional Tibetan book formats had, and continue to have, other names.

One Secret of the Seals begins with one of my earlier formations of the method, then finds Aramaic origins for kha-tham, a word for seal that appears in a Zhijé manuscript scribed in mid-13th-century Tibet.

For the Tibetan and Zhangzhung dictionaries that have entries for one or both words, see “Tibetan Vocabulary” and “Zhangzhung Dictionary.”

°

Writings on paper and PDFs

• Note: I tried to include a few of the more recent essays on Tibeto-Iranian relations by way of supplying more general background within which the borrowings would have taken place. For earlier studies not listed here check their bibliographies, although the fascinating comparative cultural studies of Jivanji Jamshedji Modi (1854-1933) deserve much more attention than they ever have gotten. More on that another time.

Anonymous, Gsar-rnyed Byung-ba’i Spu-rgyal Bod-kyi Dmag-khrims Yi-ge, ed. by Pa-tshab Pa-sangs-dbang-’dus, Bod-ljongs Mi-dmangs Dpe-skrun-khang (Lhasa 2017).

At p. 20, line no. 86, you can see the word ya-lad. This imperial period military law code was mentioned in a Tibeto-logic blog from five years ago (click here to go there). John Bellezza’s Besting the Best, discusses its provenance (at p. 134) and translates large parts of it, an impressive accomplishment given its high level of difficulty.

Pavel V. Basharin, “Iranian Loanwords for Weapons in Uralic Languages,” contained in: Amin Shayeste Doust, Dādestān ī Dênīg: Festschrift for Mahmoud Jaafari-Dehaghi, Farhang Moaser (Teheran 2022), pp. 37-62. 

On p. 46, we see that Khanti, a language of the Uralic family, borrowed its word tă̹γ̭ər, ‘chain mail’ (< *saγɜrɜ) from Middle Iranian *zγar, ‘armour.’ Here we see an initial consonant shift z > t, and not the z > y shift we might be looking for.

Christopher I. Beckwith, The Tibetan Empire in Central Asia, Princeton University Press (Princeton 1987), particularly pp. 109-110 and 185, on use of Tibetan armor (by a Türgesh leader), and Tang Chinese sources on Tibetan chain mail armor in the early 8th century.

John Vincent Bellezza, Besting the Best: Warriors and Warfare in the Cultural and Religious Traditions of Tibet, Lumbini International Research Institute (Lumbini 2020), with ya-lad mentioned on pp. 117, 146, 163.

Joanna Bialek, “When Mithra Came as Rain on the Tibetan Plateau: A New Interpretation of an Old Tibetan Topos,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, vol. 169, no. 1 (2019), pp. 141-153.  Zoroastrian set phrases detected in the Old Tibetan Chronicles mediated by Sogdian Buddhist literature.

W. South Coblin, “A Note on Tibetan Mu,” Linguistics of the Tibeto-Burman Area, vol. 10, no. 1 (Spring 1987), pp. 166-168. 

This is about the ancient Tibetan (and proto-Tibeto-Burman) word for ‘sky’ in the forms of mu, dmu, rmu and more rarely smu. For still more on this widespread Himalayan sky word, see the STEDT database #2473 PTB *r-məw SKY / HEAVENS / CLOUDS. In more recent Tibetan literature, dmu is more likely to mean the furthermost horizons of the sky rather than the sky itself.

Matteo Compareti, “Iranian Elements in Kasmîr and Tibet: Sasanian and Sogdian Borrowings in Kashmiri and Tibetan Art,” Transoxania, vol. 14 (August 2009), in about 18 pages [online publication].

Goutam Das, “Influence of Persian Identity on Tibetan Culture,” contained in: Tseten Namgyal, ed., A Copter Approach: The Trans Himalayan Tibet, History, Language and Literature (Traditional & Contemporary), Manakin Press (New Delhi 2016), vol. 1, pp. 219-235. 

This is an effort to cover the entire field of Tibeto-Persian connections of various types throughout history, with Bon Religion holding a prominent place in the discussion.

A.H. Francke, A Lower Ladakhi Version of the Kesar Saga: Tibetan Text, English Abstract of Contents, Notes and Vocabularies; and Appendices, Asian Educational Services (New Delhi 2000), first published in 1905-1941. See particularly the vocabulary entries for pho-lad with meaning iron on p. 349.

Daniel Haneberg, “Die sinesischen, indischen und tibetischen Gesandtschaften am Hofe Nuschirwans,” Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes, vol. 1, no. 2 (1837), pp. 185-204.  Tibetan tribute delivered together with a letter to Sassanian Emperor Khosrow I included armor and shields. Amazing to contemplate, since this would have happened in the 6th century CE. I hope someone will delve into this more.

Anton Kogan, “On Possible Dardic and Burushaski Influence on Some Northwestern Tibetan Dialects,” Journal of Language Relationship, vol. 17, no. 4 (2019), pp. 263-284. 

This helps in thinking about possible routes of transmission from Persia to Tibetan realms, although Amdo in Tibet’s northeast is also entirely possible (via Sogdian or Khotan Saka). It also raises the possibility that Iranic language speakers, absorbed into the Tibet during his Imperial Era, could have brought vocabulary items along with them.

_____, “Towards the Reconstruction of Language Contact in the Pre-Tibetan Upper Indus Region,” Journal of Language Relationship, vol. 19, no. 3 (2021), pp. 153-165. Around thirty Zhangzhung words are here identified as Indo-Iranian in their origins.

Per Kværne et al., Drenpa’s Proclamation: The Rise and Decline of the Bön Religion in Tibet, Vajra Books (Kathmandu 2023), in 656 pages, but see especially p. 170 note 419. This is a full translation, with text edition and notes, of a never-before-translated 12th-century history of Bön composed by an anonymous Tibetan author.

Per Kværne, “Dualism in Tibetan Cosmogonic Myths and the Question of Iranian Influence,” contained in: Christopher I. Beckwith, ed., Silver on Lapis: Tibetan Literary Culture and History, The Tibet Society (Bloomington 1987), pp. 163-174. Available online.

Donald J. LaRocca, Warriors of the Himalayas: Rediscovering the Arms and Armor of Tibet, The Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York 2006). 

This is of the best book for seeing and knowing more about Tibetan military equipment and its history. There is a vocabulary entry for ya-lad at p. 271. Of particular interest is the concept of four mirrors type of armor known in both Persian- and Tibetan-language expressions (see p. 126).

Berthold Laufer, “Loan-Words in Tibetan,’ contained in: Hartmut Walravens, ed., Sino-Tibetan Studies: Selected Papers on the Art, Folklore History, Linguistics and Prehistory of Sciences in China and Tibet, Aditya Prakashan (New Delhi 1987), vol. 2, pp. 483-643. I use an old photocopy of the original publication in the journal T'oung Pao, vol. 17 (1916), pp. 403-552 (for the Persian loans, see pp. 474-483). This is the classic study on pre-modern Tibetan words of foreign origins. The Persian-donated Tibetan terms he discusses I’ll list here (for variant spellings, go to the source publication):  

gur-gum, zi-ra, ba-dam, se-rag dur-sman, dal-ci-ni, kram, 'a-lu ba-ka-ra, 'a-lu, 'a-lu-ca, cob-ci-ni, zar-babs, sag-lad, kim-khab, tsa-dar, sag-ri, pi-shi, pho-lad, ta-ba, dig, ta-ra-tse, nal, sang-gi-ka, tambu-ra, sur-na, kab-sha, dur-bin, sang-gin, phugs-ta, pe-ban, po-la, pai-kham-ba, deb-ther, phe-rang, phya-ther.

Boris A. Litvinsky, “Armor ii. in Eastern Iran,” Encyclopaedia Iranica Online, entry last updated on August 12, 2000:  

“In the Avesta, the term for armor is zrāδa- (armor, breastplate). The etymology of the word is presumably connected with Old Iranian *zar- “to cover” (cf. modern Ossetic zğær, oesqoer ‘coat of mail,’ ‘chain mail,’‘armor,’ ‘metal’). Similar terms are found in other Middle Iranian languages, such as Sogdian and Khwarazmian, and in modern languages like Pashto and Ormuri.”

Dan Martin, tr., A History of Buddhism in India and Tibet: An Expanded Version of the Dharma’s Origins Made by the Learned Scholar Deyu, The Library of Tibetan Classics series no. 32, Wisdom Publications (Somerville 2022). 

We call this for short the “long Deyu” even though the work is a post-1261 CE anonymous compilation framed as a commentary on a verse work. It was this verse work alone, dating from nearly a century earlier, that was composed by the Zhijé figure named Deyu. We only recently learned of yet a third distinct history written as commentary on those verses. See the blog entry of April 18, 2023: 

“Eye Spoon to Open up Historical Vision.”

Persian language origins are suggested for [1] dom with meaning of tail (or tassel) in both Tibetan and Persian (p. 528 note 1952), [2] zar meaning gold in Persian, so the Tibetan zar likely has the same meaning (p. 536 note 1995), and [3] bi-ci (also bi-ji) in Tibetan deriving from Persian bijishk or some related term in an Iranic language (p. 588 note 2261, with reference to a 1979 essay of Christopher I. Beckwith).

_____, Unearthing Bon Treasures: Life and Contested Legacy of a Tibetan Scripture Revealer, Brill (Leiden 2001), particularly p. 59.

Lopon Tenzin Namdak, Rgyal Gshen Rnam-thar — The Life of Lord Gshen-rab, "excerpted from original texts by Tenzin Namdak," Tibetan Bonpo Monastic Centre (New Delhi 1971), in 2 volumes, page numbers consecutive. 

The vocabulary in the back of the book, at p. 899, has this entry: dmu yad / dngos grub / bdud rtsi sogs.

_____, Snga-rabs Bod-kyi Byung-ba Brjod-pa’i ’Bel-gtam Lung-gi Snying-po — A Study of Early History of Tibet According to Bon Tradition (New Delhi 1997), p. 51: 

dar dkar gyi yol ba bres / dmu yad kyi gdan bting / gser gur gyi nang du bcug nas.... 

Here in this passage about Gnya’-khri-btsan-po, the dmu-yad appears to be some kind of material used as a cushion (reference thanks to Kalsang N. Gurung).

Pasar Tsultrim Tenzin, Changru Tritsuk Namdak Nyima, Gatsa Lodroe Rabsal, A Lexicon of Zhangzhung and Bonpo Terms, Senri Ethnological Reports no. 76, National Museum of Ethnology (Osaka 2008), with entries for both dmu-yad and ya-lad. The entry for dmu-yad is on p. 194. Other such dictionaries given the same set of four meanings, but without the English translations you see here:

དམུ་ཡད།  1. མར་ཁུ། liquid butter, ghee. 2. ཟས་བཅུད། the essence of food, the excellent taste of food, nourishment, vitamins. 3.  བདུད་རྩི། nectar, ambrosia, amrita. 4. དངོས་གྲུབ། realisation, attainment, spiritual attainment, magicial [!] powers.

Volker Rybatzki, “Turkic Words for Steel and Cast Iron,” Turkic Languages, vol. 3 (1999), pp. 56-86, particularly pp. 60-63. Bolat is one of four distinct Turkic terms for steel, and it seems to have come into use only in the 13th or 14th century, as a borrowing from New Persian. Some believe Persian got it from an Indic language. For Tibetan usages, see the listing of Francke’s book, above, as well as Appendix One, below.

D.D.Y. Shapira, “Irano-Arabica: Contamination and Popular Etymology. Notes on the Persian and Arabic Lexicons (with References to Aramaic, Hebrew and Turkic),” Xristianskij Vostok [Christian East], vol. 5, no. 6 (2009), pp. 151-183, at pp. 151-152. 

It was while reading this that the foreign candidate behind the Tibetan word ya-lad first dawned on me.

R.A. Stein, “Tibetica Antiqua III: A propos du mot gcug-lag et de la religion indigéne,” Bulletin de l'École Française d'Extrême Orient, vol. 74 (1985), pp. 83-133, at p. 108 note 58 (English trans., p. 154). 

Stein was probably the first and only person to mention both of our two words together in the same sentence, suggesting that the second syllable of one (yad) is a contracted form of the other (ya-lad). I think it is amazing that he came up with the idea even when I don’t believe it. A one-syllable contraction of ya-lad would be yal rather than yad — compare ra-gan, brass, in compounds reduced to rag, as in rag-dung, trumpet (lit., brass conch).

Heather Stoddard, “The Lexicon of Zhangzhung and Bonpo Terms: Some Aspects of Vocabulary in Relation to Material Culture and the Persian World,” contained in: Donatella Rossi & Samten G. Karmay, eds., Bon, the Everlasting Religion of Tibet: Tibetan Studies in Honour of Professor David L. Snellgrove, special issue of East and West, vol. 59, nos. 1-4 (December 2009), pp. 245-265. 

David Templeman, “Internal Illumination: Possible Iranian Influences on Tibetan Tantric Culture,” conference presentation of 1998. I’m not sure if it was entirely published. 

_____, “Iranian Themes in Tibetan Tantric Culture: The Ḍākinī,” contained in: Henk Blezer, ed., Religion & Secular Culture in Tibet (Tibetan Studies II), Brill (Leiden 2002), pp. 113-127.

F.W. Thomas, Tibetan Literary Texts and Documents Concerning Chinese Turkestan, Part II: Documents, Royal Asiatic Society (London 1951). See pp. 439-440 for a brief Old Tibetan document written on wood listing armor supplied to variously named Tibetan personnel. The word ya-lad is repeated several times.

§   §   §

Appendix One

Showing how the syllable lad in ya-lad doesn’t actually have a workable Tibetan-language etymology (but see no. 3):

I searched various databases and digital lexicons for Tibetan words with second-syllable lad and came up with three varieties:

1. 

Although recent loans, they are both said by Laufer to derive from Persian in the original 1916 publication of his “Loan-Words,” just as they had been already in Jäschke’s dictionary:

PHO LAD — steel. LW, p. 479. Bolad is a proper name in the Turkic-Persian realms (including Mongolia) and it has the meaning of steel. One problem with this and the following is that we are not sure if these terms gained much currency in the Tibetan realm and at what time. This word is actually used in Ladakhi version of the Gesar Epic (see Francke’s book), as the material used for his bow (and also his axe). For numerous examples of borrowings into many languages, including Tibetan, see Rybatzki’s essay listed above.

SAG LAD — broadcloth. LW, p. 477. For offerings from Mike Walter on this word, see Appendix Two.

 

2. 

This example seems weird to me, since it’s in a modern dictionary, and looks so close to Semitic walid/yeled, ‘child.’ It also must be a borrowing, although I suspect it would be a very recent one.

A LAD — phru gu. child.

 

3. 

In the following examples lad appear to be a genuinely Tibetan syllable in word-final position, and this deserves attention. Here it is a Tibetan verb signifying some kind of weakening or deterioration of something that had been in good shape (it is related to another verb slod). Both examples have entries in the Btsan-lha dictionary, although neither one is of common occurrence:

SGRIG LAD — nyams zhan du song ba'am nang rul byung ba.

NYAMS LAD — nyams chag. 

After some consideration, it seems impossible to accommodate this meaning with the known meaning of the entire word ya-lad, so we put the possibility aside without forgetting about it.

§   §   §

Appendix Two

This appendix is entirely from Michael Walter, an unmodified version of his email transmission of December 6, 2024.

I believe I’ve solved sag lad: 

Observations:

Tibetan /g/ must serve to transcribe a number of possible velar sounds, in particular in a coda (a closed syllable, such as VC, CVC, CVCC). These include, depending on the language, /k/, /g/, /kh/, /gh/, /q/, /gh/. 

Tibetan V /a/ may stand for /u/ or /o/, as all three are “back vowels” (pronounced in the back of the throat, with the tongue raised). This is especially likely if the /u/ of the loan word is pronounced in a flat manner, sounding more like “ah” (the schwa), as in but, than the “long” /u/ in cute. Both Indic and Iranian languages have short-a vowels with this general pronunciation.

This is all the almost-linguistic analysis I’m going to do for what follows, because a) I’m not a linguist, and b) We remain ignorant of the donor language for sag lad. In addition, we must not posit a “standard” form of any language when dealing with such old data. That means that we are making assumptions about the values of vowels in languages which have been preserved in scripts ill-fitted to give us detailed data concerning those values. And, dialects and special registers of languages (i.e., Chos Skad) may contain their own vocabulary for certain categories of words. Finally, and most importantly, we don’t yet know how many intermediary languages were involved in transmitting this term, and how this affected both its phonetic and semantic structures. As time went on, as is quite usual, the term came to have several referents. It is interesting to consider that, as with Paisley, Jersey, Denim, etc., the Tibetans may have been told that this material is “Saqlat”, i.e., from the Turkish city 

To pare down possible origins of sag lad, we can remove Sanskrit, Mongolian and Arabic as potential donors. The three following sources provide us with the evidence necessary to put forward a plausible explanation.

1.

Habib.2003 "Textile terms in Medieval Indian Persian texts," 543. (Several diacritics here need to be corrected.)

“90. suqlãt, suqarlãt. Qawwãs, early 14th century, defines suqarlãt, suqlãt and suqlätün, as woollen cloth of Firang (Europe). The Ā’īn, I, 110a, puts suqlãt of Rum (Turkey), Firang (Europe) and Portugal, under woollen stuffs, priced at Rs.lYi to 4 muhrs per yard. In its account of Kashmir, it is stated (ibid., I, 564) that suqlãt (so spelt) was made there "of wool, very soft.”

“Bahãr-i 'Ajam, s.v. suqarlãt, suqlãt, has an interesting notice of it: "well known cloth of wool, which is woven in Firang. In the Qâmus, siqlãt (is cloth that) was thrown over the litter carrying women... It is not known whether it is a Persian word or of some other language. Some say, had it been Persian it should have been with a gh, not q, and that Saqlätün is a city in Turkey (Rūm), where they weave suqlãt and other kinds of cloth. Some say, black and blue cloth comes from that city ... It seems that Saqlātün may in reality be suqlät-gün ["like suqlãt"], since in olden times blue was the colour of suqlãt and, then omitting the g, they have made it suqlätün. This is just speculation; it is not found in [previous] dictionaries …”

2.

Katsikadeli.2017 "Jewish Terminologies for Fabrics and Garments in Late Antiquity : A Linguistic Survey Based on the Mishnah and the Talmuds,"154n.

“Akkadian saqqu ‘sack (cloth)’, ‘cloth of goat-hair, sack’, Hebrew saq ‘sack (cloth)’, Aramaic š-q (~ Gr. sákkos ‘cloth of goat-hair, sack’).”

The etymology of a term which eventually meant ”cloth” or “sackcloth” seems to begin here.

3.

Textile Terminologies from the Orient to the Mediterranean and Europe, 1000 BC to 1000 AD.2017. Passage cited is on p. 59 in the entry by Salvatore Gaspa:

“sāgu.  This term has been interpreted as a name for ‘sack’ and for a garment. In Neo-Assyrian texts it probably represents the Assyrian counterpart of the Neo-Babylonian saqqu, a designation for a sack and a garment, and the Aramaic saq, saqqā, analogously meaning ‘sack’ and ‘sack-cloth’.179 In light of the meaning of the word, it is clear that this garment was made with the coarse cloth of sacks. In Assyria, the occupation dealing with the production or trade of these garments was called ša sāgātēšu. In light of a letter dealing with Aramean troops going on a campaign, it seems that sāgus were a component of travel equipment along with leather bags, sandals, food and oil.181 The word has long been considered a 1st-millennium textile term in the Assyrian dialect. However, the fact that the same word also occurs in Middle Assyrian administrative documents from Assur demonstrates that it was already known in the 2nd millennium BC.”

 

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Postscript (December 12-15, 2024)

Now that I’ve heard back from my good friend David Shulman it seems I will have to change my mind about the Persian origins theory. Looking at it again, I see every reason to regard mu'yad as inherently and natively Arabic and possibly more broadly Semitic.  D.S. wrote:

There is a bona-fide Arabic root, ayyada, which means “to strengthen, to endorse, to corroborate,” and so on. Mu'ayyad is the present passive participle, thus meaning “strengthened” or maybe just “strong” or maybe “supported.” I don’t think it can mean “prosperous.” The name of course is there in Persian as well, but I doubt that it’s of Iranian origin. I am not sure if ayyada has cognate roots in the Semitic languages. There is a verbal noun, ta'yyīd, “strengthening.” that would tend to make me think that the root is good Arabic.

Another thing, I was doing a local word-search through an out-of-print book for the word armor when I uncovered a gem. Who would have thought to find a relevant word in Old Irish?  The word — errad — means armor. A later spelling might be erredh. A quick search of Googlebooks turned up several published sources. Someone should look into this and get back with us. Help us out here.

Persian Name in a Bon History, Anenhar in Drenpa’s Proclamation

A figure with the very unusual name Anenhar (A-nan-har) is mentioned twice in the recently released translation of a late 12th-century Bon historical text, Drenpa's Proclamation (pp. 254-5). He’s visible in the beginning of section 70 entitled “The Tibetan Armies are Defeated.” The narrative is set in the third quarter of the 8th century, when Emperor Trisongdetsen, a new convert to Buddhism, decided to embark on not one but three foreign military ventures simultaneously (even in the best of times never a good idea):

Not listening to him either,

the king, ordering them to subdue the ‘Three Great Realms’

by means of Ch’ö,

(1) ordered Dré Pelgyi Lodrö

to subdue the realm of Tazik;

(2) (he) ordered the monk Anenhar

to subdue the empire of T’rom Gesar;

(3) (he) ordered the monk Dharmazhala

to subdue the empire of China.

Having thereupon suppressed the formerly auspicious Bön,

he performed various practices of Ch’ö

and adopted the ‘holy Ch’ö’ of India.

... ... ...

(1) First Dré Palgyi Lodrö conquered Tazik, (B 54b)

(but) the Four Citadels of the highlands were lost,

Badakshan and Utibuling revolted,

and Gongla in Tsang was vanquished by Mön.

(2) Then the monk Anenhar conquered Hor,

but Gagong and Yutsen were killed,

and the citadel Tsenpo Lich’ung was lost to Hor.

(3) Then the monk Dharmazhala conquered China,

but Ke’ushika revolted.

Remember that this is a Bön history, so the ill fortunes of the imperial armies can only be turned around by returning back to the Bön religion and once again seeking the help of the imperial gurlha guardian spirit. Many of the place names are not easily identified, so for now we will try to overlook them and focus our sights on the monk cum army commander by the name of Anenhar (A-nan-har). I would just say, because it is directly relevant, that the region he was meant to conquer is Khrom Ge-sar (here Hor means Uighurs rather than Mongols), and that would be just a general name for the Turfan Basin, the Anxi “Four Garrisons” region north of Tibet, in our modern times Xinjiang.

• I ought to make my method clear ahead of time. Whenever I see a multi-syllabic Tibetan name or term with a final syllable difficult or impossible to etymologize within the Tibetan language[s], I strongly tend toward seeing it as a foreign borrowing. Then, even if the spellings of the first syllable[s] may on occasion look as Tibetan as can be, I would still suspect them of being ‘Tibetanizations’ (use of familiar spellings with relatively clear Tibetan meanings tending to naturalize the exotic syllables). I’ve found this to be productive in the past, as you might see in an earlier blog discussion of Tibetan name elements ending in the syllable -zi, explaining four such names — Ka-zi, Ga-zi, Mu-zi and Ya-zi — as being of Turkic (and possibly also Iranic), origins (see the postscript to this blog). I’ve discussed the noun kha-tham as Aramaic for ‘seal’ in yet another blog, and hope to write about the odd pre-Mongol-era vocabulary items ya-lad and dmu-yad before long. There is a method to what some may see as my madness.

The final syllable in question today with its different spellings does indeed look like some form of an ancient Zoroastrian concept xvar corresponding to Sanskrit śrī, with both the Persian and the Sanskrit terms sharing the meaning of ‘glory’ (the Tibetan, if you’re interested to know, would be dpal). So let’s start by looking at yet another proper name that ends with that same* final syllable. It is found not in a Bon text, but in a quite different textual context, one connected with the history of Tibetan Ch’an (Zen). Here it is not the name of a monk warrior, but rather a meditation teacher, Master A-rtan-hywer.

(? I’m not troubled by the different spellings for the time being, are you? P.K. reminded me that in the more ancient times Avestan hvar meant ‘sun’ and corresponded with Vedic svar, ‘sun,’ and would only later develop the correspondence in meaning with Sanskrit śrī.)

Click on image to enlarge

Brief Indications of the teaching lineage of Master Namkhai Nyingpo.

“As for the teachers, there was the Master A-rtan-hywer, knowledgeable in the Path of equality of [all] dharmas. He departed India and for the benefit of beings proceeded to the country of An-se.* Gathering around him some 300 disciples, he taught them how to access the meaning of the Great Vehicle. He took divine sustenance from the sky (i.e., from Namkha) and sated the hunger of his 300 disciples. When he achieved the age of one hundred, he passed beyond time** in the way of Ner-ban (nirvāṇa). The An-se King stroked his body and said, “Master, if you could teach so much Dharma for sentient beings, are you departing without teaching me even a few words?” Three days after his death he rose again. He then taught Dharma to the An-se King Kva-tsi-thang (Kwa-tsi-wang?) and passed beyond time.”***

(*The place name in Tibetan spelling An-se, Schaik interprets as Anxi, the relocating capital of the Four Garrisons region, its name moving with it. 

**I see the unusual phrase dus-las 'das as something associated with early scriptural translation literature. It may have originated as a calque of Sanskrit kālagata. It could well be translated less literally as ‘come to his end,’ ‘[whose] time has come,’ or just ‘died.’ 

***See Lalou's essay, p. 505-521 for the first published facsimile, with French translation. For an alternative English translation, see Schaik, Tibetan Zen, pp. 164, 170. For a modern edition of this text, see “Mkhan-po Nam-ka'i-snying-po'i Dge-ba'i-bshes-nyen-gyi Rgyud Mdor Bshad-pa,” contained in: Lo-paṇ-gyi Rnam-thar Phyogs-bsgrigs, Krung-go'i Shes-rig Dpe-skrun-khang (Beijing 2018), in 7 vols., at vol. 1, pp. 9-13. For a modern edition and study, you might consider reading the Chinese-language essay by Tshe-ring, listed below.)

I know what some of you are thinking right now, just because you are familiar with someone else who died and rose again after three days. We’ll leave that aside for now, and instead point out that some have already supposed this Tibetan A-rdan-hwar to be the well-known Persian name Ardašīr (founder of the Sasanian Dynasty who had many later namesakes). I am not convinced of this yet. I prefer to see the name as a direct and unmediated transcription from an Iranic language, with greater likelihood Sogdian, into Tibetan. Anyway, I'm finding myself convinced by what Mike Walter says in his well-informed discussion I warmly recommend to you. To read it, just scroll down further in today’s blog. 

I would just emphasize this: The presence of two Iranic names — one the name of a monk general* and the other a Ch’an contemplation master from India — both in three syllables, with their final syllable being -h[w]ar, is surely of some significance, and both names are connected with the same Anxi region. It isn’t likely either of them really came from “India” exactly, more likely Bactria or Sogdiana. Leaving the details as well as the wider implications to be worked out, today’s business has been completed, so I bid you all adieu.

(*The text uses variant spellings of the word bande. In Bon sources this could mean simply ‘Buddhist.’ Elsewhere in Tibetan sources it tends to mean an itinerant Buddhist ritual specialist or teacher who is likely not fully ordained, or just a layperson. It certainly resembles the Pāli term bhante, Japanese bonze, etc. The Tibetan term doesn’t carry with it the same high level of respect that the Pāli does.)

§   §   §

Find me! Read me!

• This link ought to take you directly to the color photographs of the manuscripts at Gallica website. You probably are in want of the complete scans of Pt 116 and Pt 996, and both ought to be available at Gallica. Both texts have been nicely cataloged by Sam van Schaik (2014).
• See Sam van Schaik's Early Tibet blog, entry for March 31, 2010.

Bianca Horlemann, “Early Tibetan Toponyms. An Attempt to Identify 'Byi-lig of PT 116 and PT 996,” Xiyu lishi yuyan yanjiu jikan/ Historical and Philological Studies of China's Western Region, vol. 5 (2012), pp. 113-133, especially p. 114.

Per Kværne et al., Drenpa’s Proclamation: The Rise and Decline of the Bön Religion in Tibet, Vajra Books (Kathmandu 2023), in 656 pages. This is a full translation, with text edition and notes, of a never-before-translated 12th-century history of Bön composed by an anonymous Tibetan author.

Marcelle Lalou, “Document tibétain sur l’expansion du Dhyāna chinois,” Journal Asiatique, vol. 231 (1939), pp. 505-21.

Alexander Lubotsky, “Avestan xvarənah-: The Etymology and Concept,” contained in: W. Meid, ed., Sprache und Kultur. Akten der X. Fachtagung der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft (Innsbruck, 22.-28. September 1996), IBS (Innsbruck 1998), pp. 479-488.

Carmen Meinert, “A Pliable Life: Facts and Fiction about the Figure of the Chinese Meditation Master Wolun,” Oriens Extremus, vol. 46 (2007), pp. 184-210, particularly p. 191, where we find the spelling Ardasīr (A rdan hvar). What I see in Pt 116, at photo no. 88, is the complete name and title “Bsam-brtan-gyi Mkhan-po A-rdan-hwer.”

Sam van Schaik, The Tibetan Chan Manuscripts: A Complete Descriptive Catalogue of Tibetan Chan Texts in the Dunhuang Manuscript Collections, Papers on Central Asia no. 1 [41], The Sinor Research Institute on Inner Asian Studies (Bloomington 2014). On pp. 50-57 is an indispensable catalog of Pt 116, with Ch'an Master A-rtan-hwer mentioning his appearance under the spelling A-dha-na-her in Bsam-gtan Mig-sgron (1974 ed., p. 58, lines 5-6; Dylan Esler’s 2022 English translation not yet available to me). On pp. 76-78 is a catalog of Pt 996.

——, Tibetan Zen: Discovering a Lost Tradition, Snow Lion (Boston 2015). Artanhwer is mentioned on pp 48, 163-165, 170. At pp. 164-165 is the relevant discussion:

“The spelling of the master’s name (a rtan hwer) suggests that it has been rendered into Tibetan from Chinese characters that were attempting to transliterate a foreign name. One scholar has argued that it represents the Persian name Ardašīr, though this is difficult to substantiate. The first part of the name may represent the Chinese surname An, which would imply an origin in the region of Sogdiana. In any case, the lineage is first recorded in Anxi, the name of the Chinese command center for its western territories. This had been in Kucha until the late 680s, when Kucha was taken by the Tibetan army, and the Chinese moved the Anxi commandery to Qocho. Thus by the time of Artanhwer, Anxi may have referred to Qoco (Ch. Gaochang).”

Tanabe Katsumi, “A Study of the Sasanian Disk-Nimbus: Farewell to Its Xvarnah Theory,” Bulletin of the Ancient Orient Museum, vol. 6 (1984), pp. 30-34.

——, “Iranian Xvarnah and the Treasure of Shosoin at Nara in Japan,” Iranica Antiqua, vol. 23 (1988), p. 365. I haven’t been able to check this particular reference yet, but hope to do it in the new library soon.

Helmut Tauscher, “The Rnal 'byor chen po bsgom pa'i don Manuscript of the ‘Gondhla Kanjur’,” contained in: Deborah Klimburg-Salter, Kurt Tropper and Christian Jahoda, eds., Text, Image and Song in Transdisciplinary Dialogue, Brill (Leiden 2007), pp. 79-103, at p. 83.

W. St. Clair Tisdall, “The Mare’s Nest Again,” The Muslim World, vol. 4, no. 3 (July 1914), pp. 295-302. I list this antique essay here because I find clever and at times amusing its takedown of the Christian apologist hyper-vigilant to find every possible sign or trace of the life of Jesus (and of course the cross) wherever in world mythology they happen to be looking. Here, for instance, we learn that in Finnish mythology the savior was born of a virgin berry.

Tshe-ring, “A Research on the First Part of P.T. 996: mKhan po nam ka'i snying po'i dge ba'i bshes nyen gyi rgyud mdor bshad pa,” contained in: Shen Weirong, ed., History through Textual Criticism: Tibetan Buddhism in Central Eurasia and China Proper (Beijing 2012), pp. 3-22 [in Chinese, with English summary], with Roman transliteration of the Dunhuang text on pp. 4-7.

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All of the remainder of today’s blog is by Mike Walter 

who kindly allowed me to post here his valuable discussions.

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Notes on origins of Tibetan forms of names in text 

Michael Walter, Nov. 15, 2024

(References are found at the bottom of this brief disquisition, which I hope is not an imposition or uncomfortable as an inquisition.)

  The names could conceivably be transcriptions of either Sogdian, Bactrian or Khotanese, although the latter is an outlier. I’ve recently discovered that there were Bactrian Manichaeans in Turfan as well as Sogdian, and that Sogdians were a significant element of the population in Khotan (Dunkin-Meisterernst.2018; Zhang.2018 [no quote from latter]).

  As to the idea of a Chinese intermediary in the transmission of these names, that is always possible. However, the variety of transcriptions of /hwar/ in Tibetan which express both palatalization (y) and labial velarization (w) would not be expected from informants speaking the same language. It cannot be excluded that different written versions of these names were available and consulted. “An” may also have come from a written source as well as a spoken.

  This situation may have arisen in part through the frequent need of intermediary interpreters for communication among traders, attested at Turfan and other locations. This may also be a reason why there have not yet appeared any Sogdian terms in Tibetan—perhaps most Sogdian-Tibetan trade was effected using Chinese as an intermediary or with the aid of a Chinese interpreter. Since both Tibetans and Sogdians lived for quite some time in Dunhuang and Turfan, bilingualism involving the Chinese language must have been common, and nearly everyone would have understood what An/ 安 referred to. (There are two quotes concerning the name Anxi at the bottom of this statement. They support the pronunciation Anse and give a hint about the complicated employment of the term.) 

  Let’s begin with a-nan-hwar. I was immediately disabused of the notion that /hwar/ in these examples was a variant of far/farr/farn, because in all three above Iranian languages the f- is preserved (becoming the plosive ph- in Khotanese). [Gnoli.1999] Therefore, as you suggested, the only logical alternative would be hwar, Romanized identically in today’s transliteration of Sogdian. It has a long history in Iranian languages as meaning “sun”. Gharib’s dictionary of Sogdian provides only one meaning: xwr, i.e., xur, xwar, ‘sun’, the likely word here. I considered rendering xwar here as ‘brilliance’, because that is the metaphorical value for the sun in Iranian culture. However, ‘sun’ is also attested as the second element in two Parthian Manichaean names. [Cited below at Cereti.2008] The significant point here is that, because of its multivalence in Manichaeism, such as a being worthy of offering prayers to, the Sun was considered a god. This helps us make sense of these two names.

  The a-nan element may be resolved into An and Nana. I.e., this was a Sogdian from Anxi named in part for Nana, the most important goddess of Central Asian Iranians. Most Iranists believe she was neither a Buddhist or Manichaean goddess, but basically a deity of the Bactrians and Sogdians who became the city goddess of Panjikent. Yoshida considers her a goddess of the Zoroastrians with regard to the theophorism nnyprn, Nanaifarna. [Yoshida.2018.22]

  I am helped to this conclusion because, despite not affiliated with a major religion, Nana(i) ranks as one of the most common theophoric name elements attested for Sogdians in ancient sources. [Lur’e.2019.447]

  Therefore, this name is most likely to be read as An Nanahwar, ‘He who is from An, (a worshipper of) Nana and the Sun’.

  Now, as to /a-rtan or rdan-hwer/. First, let us postulate that the various forms of the second element provided here for both names represent the vagaries of scribes. As far as I can see, hwar is the only alternative among the variety here (-har, -hywar, -hywer, hwer) which can be matched with a meaningful term in Sogdian. Two variations given here may, indeed, be explained as variants of hwar which have undergone metathesis. [Yoshida.2016: “xwyr ‘sun’ < *xwarya- …”] So, again we are dealing with the Sun here.

  The t/d alteration is a common and ancient feature in Iranian languages, occurring as a dialecticism, a result of ambiguities in scripts, or simply an ad hoc variation. There are examples very similar to what we have here. [Justi.1895, cited below.] Justi also provides an ancient identification which corroborates your intuition, a venerable and noble name: Justi.1895.37 “Artanēs, from time of Herodotus”. The presence of the -n here is significant; the presence of an n is otherwise very difficult to explain in either sort of compound considered here, making Artanēs an even more likely choice. Originally it is the Greek form of the name of the brother of Darius. It seems to have developed the extended meaning “virtuous; doer of good deeds”, etc. Since Sogdians are already attested to have been part of the Achaemenid’s forces, there is well over 1000 years during which the Sogdians may have adopted this extended meaning. 

  Therefore, the name Artanhwar is most likely to mean, “Who (worships the) Sun and The Doer of Good Deeds.”

  How do we interpret such name forms? Comparisons with Sanskrit compounds abound in such onomastic studies. Most often mentioned for Iranian theophoric compounds are equivalents of dvandva and ṣaṣti tatpuruṣa formations. The presence of dvandva compounds in Iranian languages is rather recent and not without controversy. [Cereti.2008] However, the dvandva concept seems to fit these two examples, provided that the analysis of the meaning of har, hwar, etc. is correct—that the term refers to the sun. Thus, An Nanahwar could follow the examples at Cereti.2008, cited below. (Another reason to prefer this over “Sun of Nana” is that Nana is often iconographically shown holding the Sun and the Moon, making the meaning of “Sun of Nana” uncertain.)

  In any event, there is little likelihood that these are the names of Sogdian Buddhists, in particular monks. These names lack any reference to Buddhism. Also, some Sogdians who converted to Buddhism bore names beginning with Buti-, ‘Buddha’. [Yoshida.2006] This element is also lacking. However, as is so often the case, we cannot know this with certainty. E.g., consider the numerous ancient Buddhist writers who carried their Hindu names with them, such as Haribhadra or names with the element īśvara. However, the text is supposed to be mentioning the names of monks. This does not seem possible.

Historical note of some significance in Chen&Mair.2017.202: 

“… it would seem no less legitimate to characterize a nearly simultaneous socio-cultural import, namely the arrival of theophoric names in China during early medieval times, as the Iranisation of Chinese nomenclature. In a short timespan after the collapse of the Western Jin 晋 dynasty (265-316), all principal types of theophoric names found in the Near East, namely verbal-sentence, nominal-sentence, one-word, genitive-construct, and even hypocorism, were attested in China. The long-ignored historical fact is that the Iranians-Sogdians spearheaded the introduction of theophoric names into China.” 

CITED SOURCES

Dunkin-Meisterernst.2018:

“… the Bactrian fragment … is written in Manichaean script and is therefore the only surviving Bactrian text not written in Greek script. Since Greek script used for Bactrian is defective, for example, in not having a letter for the sound h whereas Manichaean script has a letter h and some other relevant features, the fragment is valuable for its script alone. But its value goes deeper. The fragment consists of a page from a book, folded to a small size, possibly for use in an amulet. It is direct evidence for a Manichaean book and for Manichaean literature in Bactrian and therefore a highly significant link in the chain of missionary endeavors that brought Manichaeism from Mesopotamia … in the third century CE to Turfan.”

Gnoli.1999:

“Among Middle Iranian languages it is attested in Sogdian farn, Bactrian far(r)o, and Khotanese phārra and then in the Digoron and Iron dialects of Ossetic respectively as farnä and farn “peace, happiness, abundance, fortune …”

Cereti.2008.5:

“In his article on Manichaean names, Sundermann (1994, 256) reports … MP Bārist-Xwaršēd “Paradise and Sun” and Wahman-Xwaršēd "Wahman and Sun.”

Yoshida.2006:

“Some Sogdians were converted to Buddhism and bear names beginning with buti- “the Buddha,” e.g.—one of the rare female personal names in the material—Fuzhitai (31) (*bʻi̯tu tie dʻai; Li and Wang, p. 180) = pwty-δʾyh “the Buddha’s slave [fem.].” It is interesting to note that these Buddha names are all attested only after the latter half of the 7th century. The fact seems to hint at the period when Sogdians were converted to Buddhism (Yoshida, 1998, pp. 40-41).”

Justi.1895.21:

“Ardām = Artames”. See also Harmatta.1994.402 (“Artanēs (read Aryandēs formerly) *Artāna- ‘righteous’ (cf. Avestan ar∂ta- above.)”

•

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES 

This list covers material quoted above as well.

Cereti.2008 “Copulative Compounds in Iranian Onomastics”

Chen&Mair.2017 “A "Black Cult" in Early Medieval China: Iranian-Zoroastrian Influence in the Northern Dynasties”

Dunkin-Meisterernst.2018 “Aspects of Multilingualism in Turfan as Seen in Manichaean Texts”

Forte.1996 “Kuwabara's Misleading Thesis on Bukhara and the Family Name An 安”

Gnoli.1999 “Farr(ah)” (Encyclopaedia Iranica)

Harmatta.1994 “Languages and Scripts in Graeco-Bactria and the Saka Kingdoms”

Justi.1895 Iranisches Namenbuch

Lur’e.2010 Personal Names in Sogdian Texts

Lur’e.2019 “The Pantheon of Sogdians from the Onomastic Viewpoint”

Rong.2005 “Name of the So-Called ‘Tumshuqese’ Language”

Yoshida.2006 “Personal Names, Sogdian. i. In Chinese Sources” (Encyclopaedia Iranica)

Yoshida.2016 “Sogdian Language i. Description” (Encyclopaedia Iranica)

Yoshida.2018 “On the Sogdian Version of the Lengqie shiziji and Related Problems”

Zhang.2018 “Sogdians in Khotan”

•

FURTHER NOTES (also by Michael Walter)

On dvandva compounds in Iranian languages

  On the plausibility that these are dvandva or dvandva-like compounds, see Cereti.2008, with Sogdian examples of the use of the Sun as a latter element in cmpnds (.5), Bactrian & Sogdian exx (.5), and a long list of dvandva there. He also asserts (.5n):

“… taking into account the fact that in Middle Persian farr/xwarrah is also personified, they may also be interpreted as copulative compounds, as done by Gignoux (1986, 82) for Farr-Mihr, Farr-Narseh and Farr-Ohrmazd, but curiously not for Ardaxšīr-Farr and Ardāy-Farr. In Bactrian we have βαγο-φαρνο, καµιρδο-φαρ, where καµιρδο (< kmṛda-“head, chief”) is used as the name or title of a god, φαρο-οαραζο, and φαρο-οηþο”, in the ostraka from Nisa we find Mihr-Farn and Nanē-Farnak, and in Sogdian we have *rwtprn, βnprn, βγyfrn/βγyprnw, k yprnw k yfrn, m xprn , myrprn xprn myrprn, nnyprn, nwyfrn/nwyprn nwyfrn/nwyprn nwyfrn/nwyprn, *pwtyprn *pwtyprn *pwtyprn, and tyšfrn; the latter taken from frn Weber 1972, 195-200, who, however, does not consider them copulative compounds.” .8 “Interestingly, copulative compounds are found also in other Middle Iranian traditions, chiefly in Parthian and Bactrian, but also, though scantily, in Sogdian.” [NB: The transcribed Sogdian titles cited here from Cereti have not copied correctly and are to be disregarded.]

On problems connected with interpreting and transcribing Anxi, see Yoshida.2006, general note on names of Sogdian clans:

  “All these surnames were collectively referred to as Zhaowu (jiu) xing (11) “(nine) surnames of Zhaowu,” because Sogdians were believed by the Chinese to have originated from Zhaowu, a town in Gansu; the number nine in this case seems to mean “numerous.” Among the seven surnames, Kang and An are the oldest and were attested already in the Han time. However, in the older days Kang represented Kangju (12), which denotes a nomad state once ruling the area including Sogdiana, while An is short for Anxi (13), a transcription of Aršak “Arsaces,” i.e., the Parthian state, dating back to the Han period. An Shigao (14), who came to China in the 2nd century and was alleged to be a Parthian crown prince, is the earliest example of An as a surname. Later, when Kangju and Anxi no longer existed, the names came to be applied to Samarqand and Bukhara respectively. The others began to be attested later in the 6th century. Mi (< Middle Chinese *miei), Shi (8) (< *ṣi), and Shi (7) (< *źiäk) are characters representing parts of their original names: Maymurg, Kesh, and Chach. However, the reason why Cao and He were selected is not known. Apart from the seven most common surnames, there were a few others, but only Bi (15) has been identified (with Paykent). It is also to be noted that the other six names, but not Mi, were also borne by non-Sogdians (see de la Vaissière, pp. 124-27). On the other hand, due to the intermarriage between Turkish peoples, one sometimes finds Sogdian names among those who bore the surname Zhe (16), which is generally assumed to be a surname of a Turkic tribe, e.g., (Zhe) Hutianpantuo (17) (Li and Wang, p. 113) = Xwatenvandak (xwtʾyn-βntk) "queen's slave."

Rong.2005.124:

  “In addition to the Chinese materials, this toponym has also been noted in the following sentence of the Tibetan Prophecy of the Arhat Samghavardhana published by F. W. Thomas: 

  "Likewise also the monks of Άη-tse, Gus-tig, Par-mkhan, and Śu-lig, after great sufferings, will go to the Bru-sa land." 

  “The places in this sentence have long been correctly identified by P. Pelliot as the following: Άη-tse = Anxi [Kucha), Gus-tig = Jushide, Par-mkhan = Bohuan, Shu-lig = Shule (Kashgar).47 [The form of Gus-tig/Jushide in this document corresponds perfectly with Maue's new reading of the word in Tumshuqese, i.e. güzdi.] 

  “The dating formulae of documents in Iranian languages from the Western Regions also suggest that the word gyäzdi- should correspond to the place-name Jushide. As a rule, the dating formula refers to the year of a certain king, the word for "king" being preceded by a toponym denoting his domain.”

Forte.1996.652 On An vs An-xi:

“In fact, as far as I know not a single Chinese work on surnames indicates that the origin of this surname [An-mlw] was in the Western country of An. Rather, all declare consistently and coherently--including the Yuanhe xing-zuan—that it derives from Anxi. In stating this, I am not maintaining that people from Bukhara were not named An, but only that the An family from Wuwei, according to Zhang Yue, the Yuanhe xingzuan, and other sources, came from the country of Anxi during the Han. I should also add that … I have not found a single case where people named An who are declared to be from Anxi can be proven to have actually originated in Bukhara.”